


Prompt 4: Lovesick

by irrationalgame



Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [4]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Comfortween, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lovesickness, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: Based on a prompt from: https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.html4. LovesickPining to the point of self-neglect or harm, sleepless nights, forgetting to eat, forgetting to come in out of the rain.It was embarrassing really. He was Jimmy Kent; world-wise, clever, talented, handsome, capable of charming the knickers off a bloomin’ nun if need be - a ladies man for godsakes - for him to be pining away after anyone was, frankly, beneath his dignity.To be pining after Thomas bloody Barrow was another level of mortification altogether.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949317
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	Prompt 4: Lovesick

It was embarrassing really. He was Jimmy Kent; world-wise, clever, talented, handsome, capable of charming the knickers off a bloomin’ nun if need be - a _ladies_ man for godsakes - for him to be pining away after anyone was, frankly, beneath his dignity.

To be pining after _Thomas bloody Barrow_ was another level of mortification altogether.

He’d have rather fallen for, oh, literally any other human being on god’s green earth. Even Alfred would’ve been preferable, as then Jimmy would _know_ he’d actually gone stark raving mad, instead of just wondering if he had.

Not to mention the fact that Thomas was a _man_. A broad and hirsute chested bloody manly-as-they-come man. With thick thighs and arms that filled a shirt just _so_ and hair that was greying at the temples and an arse Jimmy couldn’t stop thinking about.

But it was more than just feeling _ruttish_ \- there were, to Jimmy’s horror, emotions involved too. Horrible, soppy, lovey-dovey feelings that were only fit for some dopey romance novel, not Downton’s first footman.

And the real kicker was, if Thomas still had inappropriate thoughts about Jimmy then he did a damn good job of pretending he didn’t. It had taken time, and some coaxing on Jimmy’s part, for Thomas to relax and stop jumping back like he’d been bitten every time their hands brushed. But soon they’d become so comfortable around each other they practically inhabited the same space. Thomas and Jimmy were, in Carson’s disapproving words, _thick as thieves_ \- never was one seen without the other and honestly, Jimmy couldn’t remember ever being so happy. Yes, he complained about his lot at every chance he could get and yes he sniped about his coworkers and yes he took absolute pleasure in winding up Alfred but - and this is the crucial bit - Thomas was always on his side. To commiserate when he moaned and to laugh when he was mean and to toss his own snide comments in Alfred’s direction until the lanky ginger git turned as red as his unfortunate hair.

It was all fun because Thomas made it fun.

Until Jimmy’s slow descent into insanity started, that is.

They’d always enjoyed bickering in a good-natured sort of way, but Jimmy was never as quick with a comeback as Thomas. The under-butler had honed the ability to snap back with a funny and scathing barb to a fine art and it was very rare that Jimmy could get one up. And Jimmy did love to have the last word on a matter.

One morning over breakfast they’d been quietly exchanging jabs and Thomas had finally won by snidely comparing Jimmy to Narcissus. Unable to think of a good comeback, Jimmy had slipped a teaspoon of salt into Thomas’s cup when he wasn’t looking. The room had fallen silent to listen to Carson explaining some job that needed attending to in excruciatingly boring detail, and Thomas had chosen that exact moment to sip his tea - his eyes went saucer-wide and he proceeded to cough, splutter and violently spit his tea all over the table.

“Mr Barrow, are you quite alright?” Mrs Hughes asked. One of the hall boys stifled a laugh and Carson shot him a thunderous look.

Thomas struggled to regain his composure. “Yes thank you Mrs Hughes, my tea just went the wrong way is all,” he said.

Carson went back to his monotonous droning and Jimmy dared a look at Thomas - the under-butler’s eyes narrowed and he mouthed _you’re in trouble_.

Jimmy just grinned around his teacup.

And so the door was opened for a series of pranks, each more elaborate than the last.

Thomas somehow got his hands on Jimmy’s white gloves and filled them with soot, so Jimmy stole all of Thomas’s socks and threw them in the meat store.

The under-butler replaced Jimmy’s brilliantine with used grease from the kitchens. Jimmy slopped a handful of the stuff onto his hair before he noticed and had to spend the day smelling like an old roasting tin.

Jimmy caught a frog from a small pond in the grounds and left it in Thomas’s bedroom. The only indication that Thomas had found it was the shrill screech that emanated from his room later that evening.

Thomas had his revenge two days later - he offered Jimmy a cigarette after lunch as per usual and the footman accepted, only for the thing to explode like a firework moments after lighting it. Jimmy screamed like a terrified child and Thomas doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks. Once Jimmy had regained his composed he thumped Thomas roughly on the arm.

“Hey,” Thomas said, wiping away his tears, “no violence, alright? You asked for that, leaving a bloody frog in my room.”

“What’s the matter Mr Barrow, worried I’ll best you?” Jimmy nudged Thomas with his shoulder just as he was attempting to light a cigarette and he almost burned his nose.

“Hey!” Thomas shoved back, the cigarette falling from his mouth.

Jimmy leaned into it, pushing Thomas backwards until he tripped over the piano stool and fell on his arse. Jimmy laughed until he saw Thomas scrabbling to his feet, his face murderous. “Oh shite,” Jimmy said, and darted away, putting the table between them.

They played cat and mouse for a moment, neither able to catch or escape the other, until Thomas dived over the table and grabbed Jimmy by the lapels, pulling him face-first into a pat of butter that had been left out from lunch and sending silverware clattering over the slated floor.

“What on **earth** is going on in here?” Carson raged as he was met with the sight of Jimmy’s greasy face and Thomas laughing helplessly, bent over with his hands on his knees.

They both had to endure ten minutes of Carson’s finest chastisement before they made their escape, giggling like errant children. But it had been worth it - Jimmy had never seen Thomas laugh like that, unguarded and child-like, and it did something not entirely unpleasant to his insides when he thought of it.

After that anything was allowed; shins were kicked under the table, faces were pulled at each other whilst serving, they jumped out of closets and cupboards to scare each other, they arm-wrestled on the servant’s hall table, and, finally, they took to wrestling each other at any opportunity, creased and soiled livery be damned.

Even after they’d become close, Thomas had always been careful to keep a bit of physical distance between them. But that had gone out of the window and Jimmy - god help him - Jimmy found he rather liked it. Thomas was strong - stronger than Jimmy at any rate - so a Jimmy invariably ended up pinned by Thomas; up against a wall or on the ground or over a table, and he found it made his face warm and his breath catch in his throat and his heart stutter in his chest.

After one particularly epic struggle in Jimmy’s room he found himself pinned between Thomas’s legs, his arms held firmly above his head.

“Had enough?” Thomas smirked, his voice a little rough. His hair had fallen across his brow and his cheeks were pink from effort and that’s when it hit Jimmy: Thomas was absolutely beautiful and he wanted him very badly indeed.

“No,” he said, wrapped his legs around Thomas’s waist and tried to roll them over, but only succeeded in pulling the under-butler down on top of himself.

“Good move,” Thomas said, his face so close Jimmy could feel his breath against his lips, “now you’re just losing _more_.”

“I won’t give in,” Jimmy said and impulsively closed the scant gap between their mouths, pressing his lips to Thomas’s.

Thomas jumped up like he’d been slapped, his hand involuntarily going to his mouth. “That’s not funny Jimmy.”

“I weren’t tryin’ to be funny.”

“Then what were you doing?”

Jimmy paused, still prone on the floor. The truth - the truth was too hard to think about, let alone admit. “I were tryin’ to win, that’s all,” he lied.

Thomas’s usual facade dropped and, for a moment, Jimmy saw just how hurt Thomas was, before the under-butler schooled his face into a horribly neutral expression. “I’m not playing anymore,” he said, and left.

And Jimmy, the fool that he was, let him.

After that Thomas was all business. He left rooms when Jimmy entered them and he only spoke to the footman when work demanded it. He refused cards or going for a walk, no matter how Jimmy begged and instead stuck his head in the newspaper or a book and went to bed early.

And he never came out to the yard for a smoke anymore, leaving Jimmy literally and metaphorically out in the cold.

It was as if they’d never been friends at all. Jimmy felt like someone had cracked open his rib cage, torn his heart out, and left a lead weight in its place. He drifted through each day, barely noticing anything except where Thomas was in relation to him and how the under-butler never even looked in his direction anymore. Food was like ash in his mouth and he took to pushing it around his plate rather than eating it. He was bone-achingly exhausted but couldn’t sleep. He was, for want of a less flowery word, _lovesick_ over Thomas bloody Barrow.

Jimmy had started retreating to the courtyard after tea to brood and smoke alone in the dark, without Alfred or Ivy or someone asking him what was wrong again. He’d already smoked three cigarettes end-to-end and had just lit a fourth when the heavens opened, unleashing a torrent of huge, bitterly cold raindrops that quickly extinguished his cig.

He turned his face upwards and let the rain run down his cheeks and forehead, until his hair was dripping and plastered to his head. The downpour soon soaked through his tails and shirt and he shivered, but made no move to seek shelter. Maybe if he stayed out here long enough the storm would wash him away.

Not that anyone would notice.

The ache in his chest built up like he was trying to suppress a cough, until he could bear it no longer and a great sob escaped him. Tears as large as the raindrops rolled down his cheeks and he slid down on to the wet cobbles, leant his head against his knees, and wept.

It was Thomas who found him.

“Jimmy - Jimmy what’s the matter?” Thomas risked ruining his trousers and knelt down beside him.

Jimmy hid his face and tried to stifle a sob. “What do you care?”

“Of course I care you bloody idiot,” Thomas said, “come inside before you catch your death.”

“No, leave me alone. I hope I do die!” Jimmy wailed and started sobbing anew.

Thomas blinked then said, gently; “Come on, please. Let’s go inside and talk.”

Jimmy’s head snapped up. “Oh _now_ you want to talk to me? You’ve been ignoring me for weeks.”

“Because I was angry at you, not because I don’t care about you,” Thomas replied. He paused for a moment, frowning. “Is _that_ what this is about?”

“No,” Jimmy lied.

“Then why, pray tell, are you sitting in the rain, crying?”

“I’m not crying, it’s the rain!”

“Yes, because rain sounds just like sobbing,” Thomas sighed. “Fine, if you won’t come in then I’ve no choice, have I?” And he sat down beside Jimmy in a rather dirty looking puddle. “Now I’ve ruined my tails an’ all, happy?”

“Yes...No.”

“You’re impossible.”

“ _I’m_ impossible?” Jimmy said, “You’re the one who decided to cut me out of your life all of a sudden.”

Thomas gave a long-suffering sigh. “Because what you did - it hurt my feelings, Jimmy. I thought we were past all that - I didn’t think you’d be so cavalier about it. You know I,” he paused, clearly uncomfortable, “you know how I feel about you. It was cruel.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Jimmy said. The rain had almost stopped and a nearly-full moon was breaking through the clouds.

“I know, you were just messing around - but Jimmy I...”

“No,” Jimmy interrupted, “I wasn’t messing around. I - I wanted to kiss you. So I did.” He kept his gaze fixed on the heavens, but he could feel the under-butler’s eyes on him.

“You...you wanted to kiss me? Why?”

“Because I bloody love you, you arse,” Jimmy said.

Silence.

Jimmy risked a glance at Thomas - the under-butler was staring at him incredulously, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open.

“Well say something then,” Jimmy huffed.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve misheard you, because it sounded like you said you _loved_ me,” Thomas finally replied.

“I said what I said.”

“Which was?”

“That I’m in love with you.”

“Sorry, didn’t catch that?”

“I said I love you.”

“Come again?”

“I swear I will punch you in your stupid face,” Jimmy hissed and Thomas’s mouth twisted into a barely-concealed smirk.

“Alright, sorry,” he said, “Now can we please stop sitting in this puddle and go inside like normal, civilised folk?”

Jimmy nodded and let Thomas haul him up off the ground.

“Thomas?” Jimmy swallowed nervously and steeled himself before asking; “Do you...y’know, still...?”

Thomas took Jimmy into his arms and kissed him, soft and slow. “Always,” he replied, “always.”

**Author's Note:**

> THE WORD COUNT 😱


End file.
